Never Surrender
by Rather.Unusual
Summary: Eek! It's another one of those 'alternate-story-what-if-olaf-actually-married-violet' Violaf fics! Somebody call pest control! RAN OUT OF IDEAS. NOT WRITING ANYMORE. GO AWAY NOW.
1. Violet

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Violet Baudelaire, her siblings or her gorgeous husband. They all belong to Lemony Snicket. Except for her daughter, she's MINE. DON'T YOU STEAL HER DAMMIT!

**Authors Note:** WOOT! My first ViOlaf fic, after SO MUCH FANART. Please Read and Review, constructive criticism encouraged. It's really short for a first chapter, but bear with me. Huge gaps between chapters are to be expected.

One: Violet

"_I am a prisoner, forever bound by the shackles so cruelly put upon me. There is nothing left for me in this world, my siblings, my daughter, my parents are all gone. By the time you read this, I will be no more, having hung myself from-"_

Violet grunted, smacked her head on the desk and crumpled the piece of yellowing paper in her hand before tossing it into the wastepaper basket.

"You're insane." She said out loud to herself. "Get a grip, Violet. It's been eleven years, and you still can't come to terms with this."

She paused for a second, uncrumpled the suicide note and read it over.

"For God's sake, is my life really SO terrible?" She shouted with an annoyed groan, brushing a long strand of brown hair behind her ear.

"I don't know, why are you asking me, anyway?"

Violet spun around to see her husband standing in the doorway into their bedroom. He had a half-empty wine bottle in his right hand, and had a look of obvious confusion on his face. He looked Violet over with his shiny, deep sea green eyes in a way that expressed that he was beginning to question her mental health. Her hair was untidy and hanging over one side of her face, she was dressed in a black evening gown, even though it was 2 o'clock in the afternoon, and there was a noose made out of several tied-together electrical extension cords hanging limply out of her left hand.

"Do I dare ask what you're doing?" He said flatly.

Violet shook her head and shoved the noose under the bed.

"You weren't supposed to see until after I was dead." She said quickly, looking at her feet.

Olaf gave her a look that said 'You're kidding.'

"Well, I wouldn't expect you to understand." Violet said.

"What is there to not understand?" He said, raising his one eyebrow slightly.

He put the wine bottle down on the desk and grabbed his black jacket, which had been carelessly chucked onto the unmade bed.

Violet watched him leave the room and slam the door behind him.

"Damn me and my conscience." She said once he was gone. She took off her evening dress to hang back up in the closet and gabbed her everyday clothes- a plain white singlet top and a pair of jeans, with a purple and black coat over the top. She untied one of the black ribbons that she kept tied around her wrists, and used it to pull her wavy brown hair into a loose ponytail. Her silvery blue eyes were still bloodshot from crying earlier that day, and she wanted nothing more than to just collapse onto the bed and fall asleep. But she had things to do today that needed to be done, and she couldn't spend her life depressed. She had to try to stay optimistic.

"Klaus and Sunny would be dead if you hadn't made this decision." Violet said, thinking out loud. "And the fact that Olaf hasn't killed you yet is a very, VERY good sign."

_Violet held the small plastic device into the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and shook it a few times, anxious to see what was going to happen._

_It was 2 years into their marriage, and Violet had been suspicious about her physical condition lately. The constant throwing up could've easily been food poisoning or a flu, but what flu lasted for 4 weeks? Olaf had suggested going to a doctor at one point, but Violet wasn't stupid. She didn't need a medical professional to tell her what was happening. _

_She was pregnant._

_Violet shook the pregnancy test again, and sure enough, a red plus sign appeared on the device._

_"Damn." Violet said. "My mother is rolling in her grave."_

"It's a miracle that he didn't decide to just kick you in the stomach repeatedly until the baby died..." Violet thought, wincing at the somewhat gruesome image. As she recalled, she had given the child up for adoption. She never even got to see her baby girl. It was pretty depressing; she would've kept her if she could, but after what he'd done to Sunny...Violet didn't trust him around small children.

"She'd be...9...10 years old now?" Violet asked herself. She wondered who their daughter looked more like- Violet or Olaf?


	2. Sunny

Two: Sunny

Two: Sunny

POW!

Cecil Anderson skidded back across the mulched schoolyard and slammed hard into the side of the picnic table. Before he had a chance to regain his strength, his attacker grabbed him by the collar of his school shirt and pulled him up off the ground, staring him down with icy blue eyes. He reached into his blazer pocket with a trembling hand and pulled out a small object- it was a light pink pencil case about as thick as his arm with a black ribbon laced trough the zipper pull and a large 'M.M' drawn on it with blue sharpie.

"Now what do you have to say for yourself, stealing from that innocent little girl's bookbag?"

"I'm s-sorry! Won't never do it again, I swear!"

"Good!"

Once his attacker dropped him to the ground, Cecil scrambled away as fast as he could.

"Here's your pencil case back."

The little girl took it back reluctantly, a little intimidated by the older girl's first impression.

"Thank you…" she said timidly.

"I'm Sunny." The tough older girl said, her smile, although friendly, revealed a disturbingly sharp set of teeth. "That rotten thief I just bashed up there was Cecil Anderson. He makes it his business to make the life of any new student a living hell."

Sunflower Imogene Newton was an odd sort. By all accounts, she was an orphan, separated from her two older siblings and adopted by the Newtons, after her parents' death when she was just a baby. She was 12 and a bit years old, and had icy blue eyes, pale skin and very sharp teeth. Her shoulder-length brown hair was usually worn up in two plaits that stuck out from either side of her head as if held up by wires, and her best talent was making up stories. Sunny's imagination was her greatest gift, and although she was a compulsive liar, she got top marks in English and Drama for the whole of her grade.

All that remained of her family were tiny bits of what might've once been memories. A girl tying up her hair, a boy with glasses, those were probably her siblings. But some memories were altogether more cryptic. For example, Sunny had a terrible fear of heights, which was somehow mentally linked with her other fear- a fear of closed spaces, so that every time she was in, say, a small closet, she had the sensation of falling, and every time she was anywhere high up, she felt like she was in a cage. Then there were fleeting images of things she simply couldn't explain- something to do with a wedding, pasta, and eyes. She had a recurring nightmare that she was in a corridor with eyes in the walls, staring at her, following her every move. None of this could be explained by anyone- not even those who knew her family personally.

Sometimes, she would make up stories about her family- her REAL family, not her uncaring adopted parents- and imagine what they were like.

In Sunny's mind, her parents were aristocracy from some faraway land, who were killed when civil war broke out. Sometimes they were jungle explorers who got lost in the deep jungles of the Amazon, or aviators who were abducted by aliens. Depending on whatever story she was telling, her memories fit in different ways. But sometimes it wasn't enough for Sunny to simply imagine having a proper family, she wanted to unlock the mysteries of her past, so maybe she could go live somewhere else.

That's what drew her to that little girl. Something about the way she looked was familiar, like a character from a strange dream. Sunny couldn't pick what she was remembering, but something was telling Sunny that through this little girl, she would get answers to all of her questions.

"Anyways," She continued "My name is Sunny Newton. Except my real name is actually Sienna Icecry Von Maldonado, but you're not supposed to know that. Because my biological parents were a Transylvanian count and contessa who were cursed by a gypsy that their daughter would turn into a vampire if you say her name three times. So if you say my real name 3 times, I'll probably go berserk and bite your head off. Cos, I've got fangs to prove it if you don't believe me. Honest, I do. See, look."

Sunny opened her mouth and bared her sharp teeth.

"That's very…interesting." Said the little girl warily, resisting the urge to reach out and touch one of Sunny's 'fangs'. "I'm Michelle Morganti. I'm adopted, same as you. You're lucky that you can remember all of that about your family." She said solemnly.

"Yeah," Sunny said. "I suppose I am. Nice to meet you, Michelle." She reached out a hand to shake. "I like you, because your eyes remind me of the emerald brooch that my mother used to wear at evening occasions."

Michelle smiled. "I like your eyes too." She said, sounding a bit more cheerful. "They remind me of blue raspberry ice blocks."

Sunny laughed. Maybe now that she had friends, her mother would stop trying to convince people that Sunny had 'problems'. Maybe she'd finally get left alone. And maybe if she weren't such a problem, her parents would stop fighting and get back together. It was allot to hope for, after all, Michelle might just think she was weird like everyone else, and it wasn't entirely her fault that her father left, so it would take allot more than just her to bring him back. But Sunny wasn't going to give up.

As she always said, 'If life gives you lemons, make parsley soda. Then let others wonder how you did it.'


	3. Klaus

Klaus

Klaus

_Dammit._

Klaus Baudelaire, the only Baudelaire orphan to have kept his original surname, leaned up against the peeling coral-coloured wallpaper and squinted in the dim light of a single electric bulb hanging by a thin wire from the ceiling of the dingy corridor. Despite the fact that he was pissed drunk, Klaus managed to find his house, and was now attempting to shove the key into the door of his decrepit flat, located in what most would consider a 'bad' area of the city.

Klaus' head pounded furiously as he staggered into the dimly lit bedroom, with its off-white walls lined with shelf upon shelf of books. He caught his reflection in the broken kitchen mirror as he limped past it.

_I'm a mess_.

His chocolate-brown hair was long, greasy, tangled and stuck up sporadically from his head like a lawn that's never been mown. His ice-blue eyes, which once shone like precious sapphires, were currently bloodshot with dark circles under them, as they often were nowadays. His reddish face was dotted with dark stubble, as he hadn't shaved in a few days now, and his fingernails had grown long and feral.

He grunted at threw his bag into the corner of his room and collapsed onto the uncomfortable single bed in his room. In a few seconds, he was asleep.

Klaus was something of a black sheep in his family; or rather he would've been if he had any family to speak of. If you asked him, he would tell you that he was a writer and a researcher, who was simply struggling to get his various works recognised and published. In reality, he was a tormented young soul- a 24-year-old alcoholic stuck in a series of dead-end jobs, who had run away from his foster family when he was 15, after he became convinced that his sisters were dead. He had tried to suicide, but was unsuccessful of course. He had terrible luck- only barely scraping out a living in the city as it was.

"What keeps me from dying?" He asked himself. "Because I want to die."

_You have enough to live for, Klaus._

"Like what?" Klaus snorted. He was almost never optimistic anymore.

_Violet. You still have faith that she's alive, I know it._

"Violet is gone. NOTHING will change that."

_Fool, you had another sister too! Remember?_

That's right, thought Klaus. He remembered. Only a baby the last time they met- a baby with four very sharp teeth…She was named after a flower, too.

A golden yellow one.

Marigold?

Daisy?

Daffodil?

No, idiot, that's not a name…Sunflower!

That's right- Sunny Baudelaire, the youngest. Count Olaf had her locked in a cage the night of the….

_Olaf._

Klaus' face heated up with rage and he unconsciously clenched his fists, cursing the man who robbed him of his inheritance, his family, his chance for a future beyond the life of a sad, drunk young author. He cursed Violet for being dead. He cursed Sunny for never trying to contact him.

_Be Rational, Klaus!_

Klaus sighed. He had Sunny. Sunny was probably alive, and if he could track her down, he would have something to link him with his past. Someone to live for. Something to tie him back to when he had a life outside these four dingy, cream-coloured walls.

Klaus smiled, despite his throbbing headache, and went to sleep.

For the first time, he would wake up with not just a hangover, but something to hope for.


	4. Olaf

Note: The flashback in this chapter gets a little…wrong

Note: The flashback in this chapter gets a little…wrong. Nothing too bad, but I don't recommend it for people who are easily disturbed.

Four: Olaf

_Certain women are like butterflies….just as beautiful up close as when observed from a distance, and if you don't catch them and pin them down at exactly the right moment, they fly away and never come back._

Olaf took another swig from the wine bottle in his hand and smirked.

_Damn, my thoughts are poetic. I should totally write this down._

And it was true, too. He had waited so long for the perfect moment- he'd been through so many failed relationships that it just wasn't funny. But now he had his elusive butterfly- he'd found his opportunity and grabbed it, and now Violet was his.

_Don't get so proud of yourself just yet. Remember what happened last time?_

"Don't remind me." Olaf said.

The voice in his head was right- there had been another butterfly-er-woman in his life at one point. He could still remember her face- her wild, sun-golden hair, pulled back into a ponytail with pencils stuck through the elastic, her almond-shaped brown eyes. She was allot like Violet, Olaf figured: Witty, resourceful, with a wild spirit that could never be tamed. In fact, she was EXACTLY like Violet- with one crucial difference- she had loved him. For all Olaf could tell, Violet hated him, and with good reason too. Olaf gave the large ornate bird cage in the corner a guilty look, remembering what he had used it for on one occasion.

_Don't be so hard on yourself, Olaf. Violet loves you. She just doesn't know it yet._

Olaf snorted. Yeah, right. Reality check: she'd rather commit suicide than live with me.

But Violet was definitely worth it. He could tell. And who knows, maybe she was just playing hard to get…or something like that.

After all, how could he forget that night?

_Olaf locked the door to the bedroom behind him, took off the coat of his wedding tuxedo and threw it into the corner._

"_So…I guess you're going to kill me now?" Violet asked, her voice slightly shaking._

_Olaf laughed, a sound that made a chill go up Violet's spine._

"_My dear Contessa," Olaf said, grinning as the word crossed his lips- he'd been dying to call her that for ages. "Why would I kill you? That'd be like…" He paused to search for the right analogy. "…Like drilling a hole through the canvas of a priceless renaissance masterpiece."_

_Violet's face conveyed a look of fearful confusion._

"_What are you talking about?" She asked._

"_Why, you of course." Olaf said, drawing closer to his young bride and smiling wickedly. "And how ravishing you look in the moonlight."_

_It was true- she was gorgeous. Her fair skin practically sparkled in the moonlight, just like her sapphire-blue eyes. Her gorgeous, gemstone eyes… She was taller and more…mature looking than most girls her age. That was probably the reason he found himself attracted to her. _

_And it was undeniable that he was attracted to her._

_Olaf reached out and put one arm around Violet's waist._

"_Oh, I get what this is." Violet snapped unexpectedly. She pushed Olaf's arm away angrily and stepped backwards, further away from him. "Did you think it was going to be that easy?" fear undertoned the anger in her voice. "I'm not stupid, Olaf. It's not like I was just going to let you…"_

_Before she could finish, Olaf cut her off. He grabbed the back of her head, pulled her close to him and kissed her. As their lips locked together, he could feel Violet's face heat up. Wether it was from shock, anger or something else he was unsure, but he liked the feel of it._

_Once he broke the kiss, Violet stared at him, her mouth open and eyes wide with a mixture of shock and confusion. She looked like she was about to say something, but couldn't find the right words._

"_You'll catch flies if you leave your mouth open like that." He said, smiling and clicking his tongue playfully. He extended his hand and gently pushed her jaws shut. Her skin was smooth and warm against his fingertips-perfect._

_He put his arms around her again, this time pulling her in close so she couldn't get away, and reached for the zipper on the back of the white and blue wedding dress she was wearing, slowly pulling it down and sliding the dress off of her arms._

"_You can't do this to me!" Violet said hotly, still as fiery as ever, even now. Olaf grinned. He liked that about her. "There have got to be laws against this sort of thing!"_

_Olaf laughed again._

"_Oh, Violet." He sighed "Violet, Violet, Violet. We're married now, okay?" He ran his fingers through her waves of dark brown hair, twirling a lock around his finger. "Anything that happens in this room tonight is totally and completely…" He paused and drew in close to bring a dramatic emphasis on the word "…Legal."_

Olaf smiled. He remembered that night, all right. He remembered how she had screamed and tried to get away, her soft, warm flesh pressed against his, how she had tried to resist crying, but eventually had let a few tears slide down her cheeks, smearing the makeup she had been wearing, and how she had finally succumbed- realising that there was no point in fighting it anymore.

She was his. And there was no escape.


End file.
